


An Attached Folly

by dracoqueen22



Series: Folly of the Brave [10]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Episode 25 Adjacent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 09:28:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16992426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: Fjord wakes with a concern Molly tries his best to soothe.





	An Attached Folly

"Making that decision about Kiri, and then that fight in the prison today, it reminded me of something," Fjord says into the tired dark.  
  
Molly stirs back awake, surfacing from the pull that had been slowly dragging him under. "What's that?"  
  
"Caleb was speared to the wall. Beau went unconscious. Again." Fjord has rolled over now, and he's looking at Molly with a gleam in his dark eyes. "We live very dangerous lives."  
  
"It's a dangerous world," Molly says, not bothering to conceal his yawn. He rubs sleep from his eyes. "Do you have a point?"  
  
Fjord sits up, strips of moonlight peeking through the window, painting his green skin in shades of black. "We're reckless, and we're foolish, and we get involved in things that aren't our business."  
  
"Quite frequently, true." Molly traces a scar on Fjord's back, watches his skin prickle beneath his fingertip. "Is this just you going over things we both already know or...?" Or is there something deeper going on here and Molly needs to have open eyes and open ears, and possibly, an open heart for their de facto leader.  
  
"No, it's just..." He rolls out of the bed, wearing little more than his trousers, and moves to the window where Hupperdook's nightly celebration is still going strong. "It's been a while since I had anyone I cared about losing, and now I have a whole group of people, and I'm realizing what that means."  
  
Molly presses his lips together.  
  
Open heart it is.  
  
He gets out of the bed, too, though per the usual, he's wearing far less. He joins Fjord at the window, but instead of staring out it, he leans against the nearby wall, arms crossed, so he can see Fjord's face.  
  
"You want us to be a little more careful?" He shrugs. "We can be careful. But if you think you're getting this group to stay away from danger, well, that's an arduous task I don't think you can charm us into."  
  
Fjord shakes his head. “I know I can’t ask that. I just...” He goes silent, lips pressed in a hard, thin line, his shoulders an equally rigid line of tension. All of Molly’s work from a week or two ago – gone, just like that. “Realizing I got something to lose puts everything in a new perspective is all.”   
  
His gaze slants to Molly, and there’s something pointed in it. He pauses, coughs into his hand, and his eyes drop to the floor.   
  
“Not just somethin’,” he says. “But someone, too.”   
  
Oh.   
  
Well, this is a pickle, and not the tasty kind. It’s the problem with getting attached, because Molly will admit, he’s broken that rule. He’s attached to all of them, even Beau. Especially Fjord, and he can understand where Fjord’s coming from.   
  
“Well, that’s inevitable,” Molly says, trying to keep his tone light, his lips curved in a soft smile, rather than a smirk. “Spend enough time around people, you get attached. Even when you know you shouldn’t.”   
  
Live without expectation. Live without ties. Possess nothing. It had been something of a motto Molly’s tried to live by, and he’s failed quite a lot. He’d made the circus his family, until it was gone, and now these people, the Mighty Nein, they are his family. He tells himself it’s wiser not to get attached.   
  
Yet, here he is, sharing a room with Fjord for the umpteenth time. Sharing a bed with him. Returning to his bed more than once. Forging a bond, a connection. Molly, as young as he is, knows better.   
  
“And I think that’s the risk you take,” Molly says after a slow breath. “Getting attached, I mean. It’s a lonely world, and that’s no way to live. So even with the risk, it’s worth it.” He pauses. “I mean, in my opinion.”   
  
Fjord inhales, a bit shaky. “It’s worth it,” he agrees. His hands draw into slow fists before unfurling once more. “But there’s a pit in my stomach I can’t shake. I don’t know how.”   
  
“I don’t have an answer for you either,” Molly says, and his gaze tilts out the window, to the busy, happy streets. Even out there, they know that living is not without its risks. “We live a dangerous life. We know this. That’s the price we pay.” He pauses, presses his lips together, watches a family leave the festivities, dangling a small child between them.   
  
He continues, “I think the best thing we can do with that is live to the fullest. Always. No matter what. Because you never know...”   
  
Fjord exhales a sharp sound, maybe frustration. “That’s the point I’m trying to make.”   
  
“And you’re kind of missing mine, Fjord.” Molly leans off the window, dragging his gaze back to the half-orc. “You never know. It’s pointless to worry about what you don’t know. Better to live in the moment.”   
  
Fjord’s forehead crinkles with confusion. “You can’t go through life without a care, without caution. That’s just not smart.”   
  
“I didn’t say be careless, I said have fun.” Molly steps into Fjord’s personal space, hands on his hips, forcing their gazes to meet. “You can stay up all night, churning on possibilities, worrying yourself sick. Or you can come to bed, let me love you up, get a full night’s rest, and wake up feeling like whatever happens, happens, because you didn’t waste a single moment.”   
  
Fjord looks down and away, indecision written in his face, wrinkling his scar. He rests a hand on Molly’s shoulder, opposite the uncoverable red eye of the peacock feather, his thumb sweeping the visible strips of scarring on Molly’s throat.   
  
“And what if it’s death, what then? Does that just happen?” Fjord asks. “What if there’s no cleric, no healer, no priest. There’s no spell, or diamond, or enough gold. What if you have to dig a grave with your own two hands and mound it over someone you called a friend?”   
  
Molly’s heart squeezes into a tiny ball. He swallows over a lump in his throat. “Then I dig the grave,” he says, whisper-quiet. “With a heavy heart. With tears in my eyes. With a shared drink and a laugh, and I say ‘she was a good one’ or ‘while he lived, he was loved’ or ‘I will remember how they made me smile’ or whatever else I need to say.”   
  
He pauses, licks his lips, tangles his fingers in the hem of Fjord’s pants. “And I walk away.”   
  
Fjord’s sharp intake echoes like a whip-crack. “Just like that.”   
  
Molly leans in, presses his face to Fjord’s throat, inhales the salty-sweat of him. “I mourn as I move forward. Because I’m alive, and they’re not, and the best memorial I can give them is to keep living for the life they don’t have.”   
  
Fjord cups his face, tilts it up, slants their lips together, and Molly breathes into it, tastes the worry on Fjord’s tongue. They don’t usually kiss like this, so soft and sweet and romantic, but it seems appropriate now.   
  
Molly hums in his throat, slides his palms up Fjord’s abdomen, his belly, his chest. His tail swishes lazily. He soaks in the moment. Memories, he thinks, are the only things you can truly carry with you. Not after death, but at least, after loss.   
  
He breaks off the kiss with a little nip and speaks, because he has to make sure Fjord understands, before he lets a human sentiment drive him into despair.   
  
“We live risky lives,” Molly repeats for the third time this evening, if only to hammer it into Fjord’s head. “But if we survive, we live, and that is the truth of it. So if the worst were to happen, we live. You understand?”   
  
Fjord sighs and rests his forehead against Molly’s. His eyes have slipped closed, his fingers making soft sweeps over Molly’s cheeks. “Yeah,” he says.   
  
“Don’t make me make you promise like we’re children, Fjord,” Molly says, making his tone as stern as he possibly can, which admittedly isn’t much.   
  
Fjord chuckles, though it crackles around the edge. “I’ll remember,” he says. “But for now, I think you’re right. We should go back to bed.”   
  
Molly pulls him in for another kiss, just as soft and sweet as the one before. Fjord kisses him like he’s memorizing Molly’s taste.   
  
And it’s good. It’s wonderful. It’s the attachment he’s not supposed to have, but Molly indulges anyway, because what’s life without a little risk?   
  
Well, it’s not much of a life at all.   
  


**

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback, as always, is greatly appreciated and encouraged and welcome.


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